Page 87 of The Gentlewoman Apprentice

“Yes.”

Her shoulders slumped and she pressed the burning from her eyes. “I’m a fool.”

“You are a loving sister.”

“I’ve insisted on distrusting you.”

“You had little reason to have confidence in me, considering our shared heritage.”

“I am a blind creature.” If Samuel didn’t require her money, then she had broken her contract for nothing, destroyed her relationship with the one man who ever saw her clearly. Not for Samuel. Not for survival. For control. Her mother had told her to become useful, and Meg had achieved her mother’s objective.

“I want Samuel to live with me.” His presence was almost a requirement. Who was she without him?

“Of course. And I would never oppose that arrangement.”

“You believe he will be better served at school.”

“It’s a path familiar to me. But perhaps no one understands Samuel’s needs better than he. And I know he loves you more than anything.”

The words washed over her like warm water, giving her strength to admit defeat. She thanked him sincerely for his counsel as they returned to tea and enjoyed the rest of their afternoon together. When James and Samuel departed, Meg squeezed her little brother with the strength of a mother sending her child away for the last time.

“I’ll be back, Meg.” His eyes were reproachful.

She knew this was true, but her heart stretched to near breaking as she watched him amble away atop his pony. Samuel patted the pony’s neck and spoke to Lord Halverton’s groom with the easy familiarity of a boy who belonged. He did not look back as he rode away.

She had carried him through fevers, slept on floors beside his cot, rationed her own meals so he might eat. Every scrimped coin, every breach of contract, every lie she swallowed to preserve the illusion that her shop was innocent had been rooted in the certainty that Samuel would return to her. She’d fabricated a future too small for Samuel.

Her gaze fell to Peter’s windows, where light burned, warm and steady. In her determination to succeed, she’d dismantled Peter’s trust, sacrificing him on the altar of Samuel’s care when no such offering was required. Their letters had taken a friendly turn. Perhaps honesty could renew their friendship in full. Meg retreated to her office and trimmed a quill.

28

Through the window of his bedroom, Peter watched Margaret wave at her brothers as they disappeared around a bend. With one hand pressed to her chest, the other rose to her throat, and she shuddered as though a sob passed through her.

She’d supported him through his grief, dragged him from his house, ensured he ate. It was correct to return the favor. But no. Her actions were motivated by self-interest.

He turned his back to the window and entered his office, where he thumbed through the account books, making notes in a new ledger. Though the idea of transforming his tailor shop into a house for printed cotton lured him into creating page upon page of plans, only after meeting with Mr. Hobbins had the scheme developed permanence. Mr. Hobbins lent wisdom and certainty, practicality and experience. The venture now felt tangible.

Johnathan entered with a bow and laid a letter on Peter’s desk.

“I believe it is from Miss Cooper.” He paused, eyed the letter as if waiting to read it himself.

“Off with you then. It’s a Sunday. Go enjoy yourself.”

With Johnathan gone, Peter set Margaret’s letter aside, pretending for a moment he could simply decide not to read whatever she had to say. He’d enjoyed their daily correspondence the previous week, however painful. She was like an itchy scab that begged his attention. But this was not a sentence or two scribbled on the page they’d been exchanging. He must know what she expressed.

Dear Peter,

My grip on my brother Samuel has eased and slipped. He will likely attend school in Gloucester. I find myself pleased for him to enter a life that presents him vast opportunity I never imagined. I am also bereft.

I now confess another example of my selfishness. I told myself I needed this shop to support Samuel, so he could live with me safely, comfortably, and receive an education funded by my efforts. For reasons I can scarcely recall, this intention set my course and led to my deceiving you.

But Samuel doesn’t wish to remain with me, nor does he require my money. I’ve been imprudent, stubbornly refusing to understand the monetary resources set aside for my use. The ramifications of my skepticism are deep and painful, not least the loss of your regard.

Meg

She did not ask forgiveness. Perhaps she always sought the same thing from him. Understanding. Her actions were incomprehensible, contradictory, perplexing. And she was the woman who wore a hard shell over something tender.

He opened the drawer containing Margaret’s letters. They should be burned. He looped his finger through a burgundy velvet ribbon that reminded him of her hair and pulled the stack onto his desk. As he opened the first letter, a wave of lavender scent met him. She may as well be in the room. He read through them.